Danger Zone
by Mulligrubs
Summary: Jane has a talent for getting into trouble, but has serious doubts he will be able to talk his way out of this one. It turns out that pissing off the biggest drug lord in California is a bad idea. Rated for violence and language.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own The Mentalist or any of its characters. This was not written for profit, just for fun.

Patrick Jane had a knack for getting into unsafe situations with a regularity that surprised even him. This was ironic because he had, not long ago, made a living by claiming to posses psychic powers.

Exhibit A: recently, Jane narrowly escaped getting thrown off a roof by a colleague whom he was usually on good terms with. The other man was under the impression, thanks to a gifted yet misdirected hypnotist, that they were going for a swim. Incorrect as he was, the pair came close to taking a big dive.

Exhibit B: On a separate occasion Jane was temporarily blinded by a madman out for revenge (a long story, but related to the whole fake-psychic thing) and, while still blind, ended up making a hasty getaway with another colleague in her car. He had been in the drivers seat.

Continuing to exhibit triple Z, though tremendously possible, would be an exercise in redundancy. The man s work, and his own mouth, consistently got him into tight spots, though so far Jane had always been able to weasel his way out. Normally, if he solved the crime, caught the bad guy, rode off into the sunset, and annoyed Lisbon, he considered the day a good one. Upon reflection, Jane didn't think he would be able to do all four today, though three wasn't bad. The crime was solved and he'd caught the bad guy.

_Though_, Thought Jane. _I will admit that, to the casual observer, it might look more like he caught me._

The third point hit a snag. Turned out that being duct-taped to a chair surrounded by the goons of a crazed drug lord in a poorly lit room of indeterminate location put a damper on the ride into the sunset thing. Jane could, however, say with absolute certainty that Lisbon would be thoroughly annoyed with him.

_Hmm_ He thought with an effort through the cotton candy which seemed to have overgrown his brain. _No wonder I bug her so much. Lisbon annoyed is actually pretty cu-_

Jane was brought abruptly out of his musings by a blow to the temple and a sharp voice: "Where the fuck is our money?"

"What is this?" Jane asked, shaking the hit off like a boxer. "Let's play hit the prisoner until he's bleeding, dizzy, and can't think straight? I'm new to this game, but I think you're winning."

The CBI consultant smiled, which in his experience tended to disarm people like sharp-voice, and blinked blood out of his left eye. He also discreetly re-checked the strength of his bonds. Numbness was beginning to creep into his feet and left arm. There was a little more wiggle room for his right arm. Not enough to pull a Houdini, but almost enough to get his hand into his pocket and get the business card he put there earlier. A few more adjustments would do it.

"You have a nice right hook there. A lot of power behind it. A lot of rage," Jane said to sharp-voice, willing the goon not to see his hand reaching into his pocket and grasping the desired object. "Maybe some childhood trauma? Have you considered thera--?"

**Whack.** Jane felt his lip split as he took another punch, this time across the mouth.

_Team goon scores again_, thought Jane through more cotton candy. He inconspicuously drew his hand back out of the pocket. _I'm getting too old for this._

He heard the click of a slide being drawn back on a gun, though he couldn't see whose hand the weapon was in. Maybe one of the goons behind him? He felt fear in his accelerating heart and the knots gripping his stomach. Was this it? The end? Thoughts of his family and of Red John flickered through his head.

"I'm not going to ask you again! Where's our mon--"

There was a bang. Not a loud one, barely a pop. It was no louder than a kid busting a paper bag, but Jane still jumped. The goon with the sharp voice looked down, having suddenly lost the ability to speak. His hand had instinctively grasped the left side of his chest, right over the heart, at the moment of impact. He drew it away to find the fingers slick and warm with a substance which, his mind protested, could not possibly be his own blood. He fell to the floor, produced a few agonal gasps, and died with a look of disbelief still on his face. The other goons exchanged glances, but remained silent.

Jane glanced up, hoping to see a familiar face. Lisbon, Van Pelt, Cho, or even Rigsby would have been a welcome sight, but instead he found a newcomer. The new man was tall, dark-haired, and apparently adept at entering rooms as stealthily as any Japanese ninja. He snapped his fingers, the sound crisp in the silent room.

This was apparently a command of some sort, because the sharp-voiced goons body was removed and a chair materialized, all like a cheap magic trick. Jane starred at the new, Rorschach blot smeared across the floor where the goon fell.

"Ivan there," The newcomer said conversationally, indicating the bloodstain on the floor, "was doing business behind my back, planning to overthrow me. He lied to me, which I found very distasteful. Unfortunate for him, but _les cochons_ will eat well tonight. Not many people realize that pigs will eat flesh, but honestly, pigs will eat anything. Which comes in handy in my line of work. Makes cleaning up very simple."

The dark-haired man dragged the chair close to Jane's and straddled it, placing the back of his chair, Jane noted, like shield between them. The astonishingly silent gun was place under Jane's chin, lifting his bloody head. The man's name was Yves Defouque, and he was the biggest drug lord in California.

"Where is my money, Monsieur_ Baker_?" asked Defouque. His voice was calm and steady, as if he were asking Jane what he thought of the latest twist in his favorite television show. "If that's even your name. I will only ask this once."

"Now that," said Jane, trying to keep his voice just as steady, though his words were slurring a little at this point. "Is an interesting question. Where is your five million in drug money? I'm starting to think I chose the wrong career path. You wouldn't know from looking at me, but there is not a whole lot of money in the consultant business..."

Jane's voice became more and more garbled right until the end of his sentence, when he slumped forward. The duct-tape across his chest ripped and he continued his slump right into Defouque, who hastily pushed him back into the chair. Jane returned his now empty hand to his side as the goons stepped forward to help. Defouque waved them off. The man was obviously not going anywhere. There was a click as Defouque prepared the gun to fire and pressed it into Jane's temple.

"My money, Monsieur Baker," Defouque said. "Please try to concentrate. Perhaps it would help if I told you I have no scruples about splattering your brains all over these walls. My cleaning crews are really quite efficient."

Jane licked his lips, probing the split with his tongue. He paused, took a deep breath, and then told the Frenchman exactly where the money was.

The gun was removed from his temple and his vision went gray and fuzzy around the edges as the adrenalin wore off. He heard a grating scrape as the Defouque s chair was drawn back over the concrete floor.

"Tie him up better while I m gone, he almost got his bloody hands on my new jacket," Defouque said to a goon out of Jane's eyesight. "Keep him alive until I get back. I want to check this out personally."

Defouque might not have been so eager if he had known the last thing to pass through Jane's head before he passed out.

_Hook, line, and sinker_, thought Jane. Then it was all cotton candy.


	2. Chapter 2

Lisbon was annoyed at Patrick Jane. No, scratch that. Annoyed did not even begin to cover the depth of frustration and irritation she felt. She was even more frustrated with Richard Tenet, a short, stocky agent from narcotics.

She took a deep and calming breath, which had absolutely no effect on her mood. She tried a second time, just for kicks. Nope, still nothing. Then again, this was not deep-breath variety problem. She could practically feel Rigsby and Van Pelt exchange glances behind her back. They knew something was up, which meant Cho did too.

"Run this by me again," Lisbon said to Tenet, endeavoring to keep her voice as level as possible. "You let my consultant do what exactly?"

"We really don t have time," Tenet said. "Mr. Jane's safety depends on us being at the marina parking lot in fifteen minutes, and it's a twenty minute drive."

"Well, then," Lisbon said, grabbing her coat and signaling to her team. "We'd better drive really fast."

Agent Tenet opened his mouth to reply then thought better of it.

"We'll brief you on the way," He said.

In the two weeks he had worked with the man, Tenet had grown to respect Patrick Jane. His methods were decidedly not standard, often bordering on the insane, but they had one thing going for them. They produced results. Tenet knew that, somewhere, Jane's clock was ticking. He could only hope that Jane had managed to give Defouque the location. Then they could catch him, hook, line, and sinker.

It hadn't been difficult to get Patrick Jane on the case, though he had refused the first time Agent Tenet had tried to bring him in to the little sting operation. The second time Tenet asked, he brought the photographs. Yves Defouque wasn't top dog in a tough underworld for nothing, and sometimes families got caught in the crossfire...

"Maybe these will change your mind," Tenet remembered saying as he handed the Mason file across the desk to Jane. "The Masons where nice people. Too bad Dad's work was a little shady, and he got into it with Defouque. Ended up getting his whole family killed."

Tenet remembered that Jane's mouth had been open, undoubtedly ready to throw back some witty retort. None came. Jane had instead gone pale, carefully closed the file, and pushed it away. Tenet correctly assumed that Jane had reached the photos of the Mason s seven year old child.

"Sick," Tenet said, "isn't it? What Defouque did to the Mason's little girl?"

The consultant was quiet for a few moments, face strikingly somber without his trademark smile. Tenet knew, before Jane even said a word, that the man was in. Jane had only asked one question.

"Why me?" Jane asked. "You've been coming over here so much lately Lisbon thinks you've got the hots for me."

"Relax, you're not my type," Tenet said, glad that the mood had lightened again. "You're the best shot we've got. You're charming, charismatic, and people trust you even when complete bullshit s coming out of your mouth. You've also proven to be remarkably talented at getting big-time criminals to like you. Golf with that mafia boss a couple weeks ago? Impressive stuff."

Tenet was laying it on thick at this point. He did not think it pertinent to add that the other agent they had sent in under cover ended up in a coma for six days, and would be using a colostomy bag for the rest of his life.

"And if we don't stop this guy soon, more people are going to end up like the Masons."

"I'm in."

The rest had been astonishingly simple, until recent events, that is. Jane had preformed beautifully. He set up a meeting with Defouque posing as David Baker, a new dealer relocating from New York. Tenet had a false criminal record created for Baker, just a couple minor possession charges, to add credibility to the story. Then he filled in a few of his contacts in New York on the plan so they could provide references when Defouque came sniffing around, as he was bound to.

Defouque was old school, and demanded that he be paid in cash. Tenet was unsure as to whether Defouque mistrusted electronic transfer, or simply enjoyed the level of control he had in a personal exchange. Everything had gone off without a hitch as Jane, advised by Tenet, set up a location and time for the transaction. Then things started to go bad.

Jane had insisted on not wearing a wire the last couple of days. With Defouque becoming increasingly paranoid as the big day grew closer, Tenet had to agree. If Defouque got even a whiff of something fishy, the whole deal would be blown. It wasn't a wire that set him off.

One of Tenet's New York contacts died suddenly, and before Tenet could shuffle in a replacement, some smart-guy, one of Defouque's old buddies, stepped into his shoes. This idiot started telling Defouque he'd never heard of this 'Baker'. He told Defouque the whole thing reeked like week-old flounder. It was surely some sort of scam, and if he was wise he'd get the money and run. That was yesterday, and Defouque had since grabbed Jane and vanished from sight.

Luckily Defouque hadn't linked Jane to the CBI, so he might still be alive. In the not unlikely case that Jane had pulled through, Defouque still thought that Jane's people where bringing the five million to the Marina parking lot in, Tenet checked his watch, about five minutes. Defouque was finally within their grasp and, once caught, could be coerced into revealing Jane's location.

Tenet finished giving Lisbon and her team this condensed version of recent events just as they furtively pulled into the Marina lot. There where four minutes to spare. He left out the part about the Mason girl's photograph. No need, he thought, to let them know all the details.

"And if I am not mistaken," Tenet finished. "That is Defouque's car right across the parking lot, with the man himself right outside. Looks like your man really pulled through."

"What's the plan?" Cho asked. "He's got at least five guys with him."

Lisbon patted the briefcase between the front seats.

"Rigsby, Cho," She said, "You two identify yourselves as Jane's delivery guys and get close to Defouque. Van Pelt and I will circle around behind. Agent Tenet and his people will provide support and cut off any escape. Got it?"

"Yes ma'am," Tenet said, undoing the safety on his gun.

Defouque saw the two men approaching with the briefcase and allowed himself to relax microscopically. Perhaps Jane was the real deal after all. Still, it paid to be careful. They were twenty feet away when one of Jane s men, the taller and dimmer-looking of the two, called out.

"You Defouque?"

"Yes, yes, I am Defouque. Drop the case right there and back up fifteen feet," Defouque said impatiently. "If your hands are not visible at all times, my men will shoot."

The men complied and Defouque approached the case with growing anticipation. He reached out, undid the latches. His heart fluttered like a moth in his chest as he lifted the lid, revealing...nothing.

The case was empty.

_"Merde_," He said, and prepared to give the order to shoot Jane's men.

"Hands in the air, all of you," said a woman s voice from somewhere behind him."You're under arrest."

Defouque looked back at the CBI agents surrounding his men. The one who had spoken was short, dark-haired, normally something he would have loved to see, except that she was pointing a gun at him. He turned to the two who had delivered the empty case. They had drawn their guns, which were also now pointed at Defouque.

_"Merde_," He said again as the short CBI woman began to read the Miranda rights.

Normally he was not one for swearing, but this situation seemed to call for explitives. The man Defouque knew as David Baker had royally screwed him over.


	3. Chapter 3

Lisbon's mood had not improved much with Defouque's arrest, since he had thus far refused to give up Jane's location.

"Let me in there, Tenet" Rigsby said, cracking his knuckles. "I'll get him to talk."

"I don't think so," Tenet said, already poised to enter the interrogation room. "This is my case, and no one but me and whatever scumbag slime ball Defouque hires as a lawyer is going in there."

"What do you think you're playing at, Tenet?" Lisbon said. "You didn't mind us coming along to the marina. One of my teams' lives is on the line. We have the right to--"

"I don't have to defend how I'm working _my_ case to _you_," Tenet said. "Nor do I have to include you in the interrogation. I will, however, seeing as your consultant is involved, inform you of any new developments. Agent Rigsby, you're blocking the door. If you could just…Ah, thank you. Excuse me."

"That little…" Rigsby said as soon as the door had shut behind Agent Tenet.

"He's right, as much as I hate to admit it," Lisbon said. "It's his case. We can't go in there without his say so."

"We should be doing _something_," Van Pelt said.

Lisbon, Rigsby, Cho, and Van Pelt were silent for a few moments.

"What if we decided to aid Agent Tenet by go over the evidence collected at the scene?" Van Pelt finally asked, apparently quite seriously. "He seems too busy interrogating a suspect right now to go over it himself."

A wink and a nudge would have been quite appropriate, but the closest person to Van Pelt was Rigsby, who might have taken it the wrong way.

"That is very thoughtful of you Van Pelt," Lisbon said, just as seriously. "I never knew you were so in supportive of inter-department cooperation. I'm sure Tenet would appreciate the help looking for clues as to Jane's whereabouts."

"You and Rigsby go check out what they've gotten from the car," Lisbon said, addressing Van Pelt. "Cho and I will go through Defouque's personal effects. Report anything you find to me, and then I'll report to Tenet."

Lisbon and Cho headed in one direction, while Van Pelt and Rigsby went in another. Lisbon had no difficulty persuading the evidence room to let them go over Defouque's personal effects, and she hoped that Rigsby and Van Pelt were as lucky with Defouque's car. They sorted through the evidence bags for a few minutes before Cho called Lisbon's attention to a small rectangle of paper that, according to the tag, had been in Defouque's jacket pocket.

"The report says they found some partial prints on it, all Defouques'," Cho said, handing Lisbon the bag containing a business card with '**The Maison' **printed on it, as well as a phone number. "They also found a single bloody thumbprint, definitely not Defouques', right there on the front. Says they ran through the criminal database, but got no hits…"

"Well Cho," Lisbon said. "Unless you can recognize the print I don't think it's going to help."

"Actually, I think I do recognize it" Cho said, ignoring the note of sarcasm in Lisbon's voice. "See that line across the print? That's consistent with a scar. Jane has a large scar on his right thumb, runs all the way down to his palm. I've asked him how he got it, but the story kept changing."

"CBI keeps copies of our consultants' prints on file," Lisbon said. "We can run it against that."

"I don't think we need to, it's fairly unique. I'm almost certain it's his print." Cho said, and then paused again.

Lisbon had to restrain herself from rushing her employee. Cho was normally fairly quiet, but when he said something, you could bet it was important. Experience had taught her that it was best to give Cho time to get out what he had to say, but her nerves where already frayed as it was, and the anticipation wasn't helping.

"Do you think it means anything, or are we just grasping at straws here?" Cho finally asked.

"It's _Jane_," Lisbon said, reassuring herself as well as Cho. "He'd at least try to give us some kind of clue. Knowing his style, I was expecting something along the lines of big flashing neon sign saying 'HERE I AM', but this looks promising."

Cho, Lisbon thought, did not look particularly reassured. Then again, it was Cho. Cho never looked particularly anything. He flipped the card over, examining the back.

"Look," Cho said. "He had a meeting at this Maison place the day his went missing; wrote it on the other side of the card."

"That's definitely his handwriting," Lisbon said, taking back the card. "Ooh, wait. Defouque owns a restaurant called _The Maison_. I read it in his file."

They looked at each other.

"We've got to tell Tenet," Lisbon said. "I think we just figured out where Jane is."

Cho shuffled through the rest of Defouques' personal effects as Lisbon called Tenet on her cell phone, thinking that a big neon sign would have been a hell of a lot less ambiguous. Just as he started to put the evidence bags back in the tray they had arrived in, Lisbon snapped her phone shut.

"Alright," Lisbon said. "We're heading to _The Maison_ with Tenet's team right now. Let's grab Rigby and Vanpelt."

* * *

Patrick Jane regained his senses by degrees. First, he could have sworn he heard the familiar noise of a deck of cards being shuffled. Then his sense of smell pulled itself back out of oblivion, bringing with it no particularly useful information, though it did tell him a shower was in order as soon as he got out of this mess. His sense of sight came back next, though he kept his eyes tightly shut in order to cut down on confusing sensory input. Sight was followed shortly be his sense of pain, which reminded him why he had decided to black out in the first place; his head was pounding, and thinking was like trying to swim through a bowl of tapioca pudding.

Jane made the noise similar to the sound a college student emits after waking up with his first hangover. He then opened his eyes. He was still in the same room, no surprise there. Two men Jane didn't recognize sat at a card table in the corner, which Jane supposed had been dragged in while he was unconscious, and where playing what looked like Go Fish. One of them, a 300-pound biker-type with an impressive mustache, looked up and saw that Jane was awake.

"Hey hey," the biker said, elbowing his friend. "Look who's up. Got any kings?"

"Go fish," said the other, who looked a bit like Michael Tyson.

"Man," Biker said, with a voice like gravel. "I've got to say, Baker or whatever your name is, you've got balls. Standing up to Ivan like that? And the boss? That was the shit."

"Oh," Jane said. "…thank you."

"No one liked Ivan," Tyson-look alike said. "He was a real asshole. Got any twos?"

"Nah, go fish," Biker said, then turned back to Jane. "The boss must respect you. Otherwise you'd be dead as Ivan right now. Got any sevens?"

"No damn it, I don't! And I'm tired of Go Fish," Tyson-look-alike said, throwing down his cards. "We always fucking play Go Fish."

"You guys want to play some poker?" Jane asked. It was worth a try. "You'd need at least three, but I'm always up for a game."

Biker and Tyson-look-alike exchanged a glance. Tyson look alike shrugged.

"It's not like he's fuckin' going anywhere," Tyson said. "Ivan smashed his foot up pretty good earlier."

"What the hell," Biker said with a shrug. "Better 'n Go Fish."

They un-taped Jane as best they could, who hobbled over to the card table and took a seat. He took the deck of cards from Tyson and spread them out in a half-circle, face up. Time for a little showing off.

He turned them all over with a flick, gathered them back together, then shuffled and bridged the deck a couple of times, adding a couple of flashy, but simple flourishes. He finished with a one handed deck cut. Not bad for a man with a busted foot and a concussion. Biker and Tyson looked suitably impressed.

"So," he asked. "What are the stakes?"


	4. Chapter 4

The game started out intense and escalated from there. The stakes rose each round with a growth pattern normally associated with exponential curves reaching to infinity. Jane's precious car, his Citroen DS2, was on the table, as was Biker's prized 1946 Harley-Davidson WL. Tyson had folded. Biker lay down his cards on the table with a triumphant smirk. No way could the little bastard beat _this_ hand.

"Full house," Jane said, giving a slight nod to Biker's cards. "Certainly a respectable hand."

He switched the toothpick in his mouth from one side to the other and looked at Biker over the top of his shades. Neither Tyson nor Biker could explain the sudden appearance of the toothpick and sunglasses, perhaps summoned from a secret pocket in the man's well-tailored jacket. That seemed to be how the guy rolled, mysterious as the shoes that appeared overnight, dangling, from telephone wires.

Jane paused for dramatic effect, and then slowly laid his cards on the table. He sat back, crossed his arms and leaned back in the chair, balancing it precariously on two legs. He spit the toothpick on to the floor.

"You've got to be fuckin' kidding me!" Biker said, giving Jane's chair a shove and sending him toppling over backward. "A straight flush?!"

Tyson was laughing silently in the background.

"Okay, ow," Jane said, picking himself up. "Didn't anyone ever tell you it's just a game?"

"That's like the tenth time, man," Biker said. "No one's that lucky."

"I've got good karma," Jane said, backing slowly away from Biker, who had picked up the fallen chair and was now holding it over his head. "Probably because I don't kidnap people for a drug lord as a living, but hey, that's beside the point. Alright, if you'd just put down the chair…no, _down, _not up…well, okay, if it makes you feel better, just keep holding it like that. I've got a proposition I think you'll want to hear."

Jane continued his backward hobble, putting a safe distance between himself and Biker.

"Listen to what the dude's gotta' say," Tyson said. "Put the chair down, man."

"Alright," Jane said. "Thank you. Now to start, your boss was right, my name is not David Baker. I'm Patrick Jane, and I'm a consultant for the California Bureau of Investigation. No, don't pick up the chair again. It won't help. If I'm not mistaken, your boss has already been arrested, and the CBI is entering this building as we speak."

He was right. At that very moment, Lisbon and her team, and Tenet and his team were searching the ground floor of The Maison, upsetting diner parties, and producing a lot of noise. Biker and Tyson looked up at the ceiling, and then turned their attention back to Jane.

"Ah, that must be them now. So, you can go ahead and kill me, but…no wait," Jane said backing further from the pair. "_But _that's only going to hurt _you_. I mean killing a CBI consultant? Do you know how long they'd put you away for? If you're smart, you'll surrender without a fight, and then turn evidence against your boss."

Biker and Tyson looked pensive, so Jane continued.

"With a good lawyer, you guys will get off with minimum sentences. We're talking community service here. California has a great witness protection program…"

There was a pause. Biker and Tyson looked at each other and shrugged, avoiding eye-contact with Jane, starring at the floor.

"Well, when you put it like that…" Biker said.

"We'll do it," said Tyson.

"But could you at least give me a chance to win my bike back?"

"Unlock the door first," Jane said, cracking his knuckles. "Then we'll play."

Back upstairs, Rigsby found the cleverly hidden basement door.

"Over here," He called to the others, bringing them over. "There's a door hidden behind this huge 17th century French tapestry."

Van Pelt raised an eyebrow.

"I took a course back in college…" Rigsby explained, looking embarrassed.

"Sure," Cho said.

"Whatever," Lisbon said. "I'll take point. Tenet, can you cover us?"

"Sure thing," Tenet said, a little annoyed at being pushed to the backseat in his own investigation yet again. Then again, it was Lisbon and her team who had deciphered Jane's clue, so he felt they deserved some slack.

They descended the dark stairway cautiously, reaching the bottom without incident. The landing had a single door. Before they reached it, Tenet put a hand on Lisbon's arm.

"I just want you to know," Tenet said. "Whatever we find behind that door…Jane was a pleasure to work with, and I--"

"Oh, save it, Tenet."

Lisbon shuffled to the side of the door, gun in hand. She felt her heart pounding, and a trickle of sweat sliding down her chest under the tight bullet-proof vest. She took a deep breath and tried the door. To her surprise, it was unlocked.

"CBI, put your hands up where I…" Tenet said. "What the hell?"

Lisbon's jaw fell open. Her consultant sat comfortably at a card table, a little worse for wear, apparently playing poker with a large man with a mustache and another who looked oddly like Michael Tyson.

"What's going on here?" Lisbon asked. The two men had their hands in the air, and Tenet approached them with cuffs. Jane grinned like a Cheshire cat.

"What? Never seen a game of Texas hold-em?" Jane asked, as if it were the most reasonable thing in the world for him to be playing cards at that moment. "These two men have most graciously agreed to testify against Defouque, and this one owes me a set of keys."

Biker grudgingly handed over a key, attached, inexplicably to small pair of pink fuzzy dice.

"Thank you," Jane said, pocketing the keys as he rubbed his head. "My head really hurts."

"Would someone _please _call an ambulance?" Lisbon said, rolling her eyes. Then she turned to Jane. "And _you_. I want to know _everything_."

"I won a motorcycle," Jane said, looking at the keys in his hand with a puzzled look on his face. Then his legs suddenly decided to sit down without consulting his brain, and everything became very fuzzy.

"This is just weird," Tenet said.

Tenet's team took care of Biker and Tyson, and Lisbon rode with Jane in the ambulance to the hospital.

* * *

_A few weeks later…_

"I've got the pizza," Rigsby said. "Is everything else ready?"

"Just a few more things to do," Van Pelt said, " but the balloons and stuff are all up. It's good that Jane's coming back to work. He looked great the last time I saw him at the hospital. "

"He looked pretty bad at first," Cho said. "Does it have pineapple on it?"

"Pick it off," Rigsby said. "Here comes Lisbon."

"Is he here yet?" Lisbon asked, walking up to the group. "Wait, who's that pulling into the parking lot?"

Patrick Jane pulled up outside the CBI building and parked. He set down the kickstand and took off his helmet, walking to the door with it under his arm.

"That is a nice bike," Cho said appreciatively as they watched Jane enter the building.

Lisbon sighed and shook her head. A motorcycle? This would be interesting.

"Come on boss," Rigsby said. "We've got to finish setting up."

"Coming."

* * *

THE END

* * *

Thank you for all the lovely reviews, they were greatly appreciated.

I finally finished a multi-chapter story. WOOT!


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